“I just love music, but ended up as an actor, and damn it, I’m not even famous.”

E-list actor John Brooks: good-looking, tall, low EQ, talented in acting but completely lacking in social awareness. On his very first day on set, he managed to offend the industry’s top screenwriter, Ethan Sullivan.

John Brooks: I really didn’t mean to.

Later, he thought Ethan Sullivan was abusing his power for personal revenge, sleeping with young actors, and slapping his name on brainless dramas for money.

John Brooks: The entertainment industry is really filthy.

He bounces back and forth between making a comeback and crashing hard, competing with popular young stars, speaking boldly, slapping back at the show’s production team, and ditching the script for genuine confessions on reality TV—

John Brooks: I really like Teacher Sullivan.

From E-list to overnight sensation, to being hated by the whole internet, to making a legendary comeback—this fool finally becomes a qualified superstar.

John Brooks: Thanks to Teacher Sullivan for never giving up on me!

A straightforward, music-loving, brash celebrity (gong) vs. a seemingly cold but actually level-8 socially anxious screenwriter (shou). I raise your IQ, you cure my social anxiety—maybe that’s what love is.

Chapter 1

“Boss, your phone is ringing.”

Ethan Sullivan sat in the front passenger seat, wearing an Italian linen shirt. The sunlight turned the oatmeal color of the shirt into a creamy shade. The sleeves were rolled up twice, revealing a brown vintage watch on his wrist.

He tilted his head slightly, and the side mirror reflected Ethan Sullivan’s face. His skin was fair, his slightly long hair styled back with gel, exposing a clean forehead and neat eyebrows. A pair of square sunglasses rested on his nose. Half his face was hidden behind the lenses, making his expression unreadable.

The phone kept ringing. The driver, assistant David Cooper, reminded him again, “Boss, aren’t you going to answer?”

Ethan Sullivan finally reacted, raising his hand. The phone, vibrating and ringing, was already between his fingers. The caller ID showed “William Carter.” Ethan Sullivan’s thumb hovered over the screen for three or four seconds before he slid to answer.

David Cooper sighed silently, thinking: So much effort.

As soon as the call connected, William Carter’s voice came through, full of energy, sounding like a man in a good mood: “Hey? Ethan Harris, it’s me. Have you set off yet?”

Ethan Sullivan’s back left the seat, his other hand relaxing from a half-clenched state to rest on his thigh, rubbing a crease in his trousers back and forth. He glanced at the road sign outside the window and replied, “Almost at the airport.”

William Carter said happily, “Great, I’ll send a car to pick you up at the airport. Do you want to go straight to the hotel or come to the set first?”

Ethan Sullivan asked, “Where are you?”

William Carter replied, “I’m out on location today. If you’re coming to the set, I’ll wrap up early and wait for you.”

Ethan Sullivan said, “Don’t delay your work. I’ll go to the hotel.”

“Alright, you can rest at the hotel for a couple of hours. See you tonight.” William Carter calculated the time. “We have to have hotpot tonight. I’ll book a table in advance.”

After a few more words, Ethan Sullivan’s straight back slowly relaxed as he leaned back into the seat, his tone also loosening up: “Okay, see you after you finish work tonight.”

The car pulled up to the curb in front of the airport terminal and turned off the engine.

After hanging up, Ethan Sullivan unfastened his seatbelt and instructed, “Let the hotel you booked know to fill the fridge with black coffee—canned is fine.”

David Cooper had been with Ethan Sullivan for seven years, serving as his assistant since the founding of Ethan Sullivan’s “Paper Smoke Studio.” He knew all of Ethan Sullivan’s habits and said, “Already done. Boss, make sure to rest and don’t stay up too late.”

Ethan Sullivan ignored him, wondering whether it was peak or off-season for tourism and if there would be many guests at the hotel. He didn’t like running into too many people.

“The room is 6206, a suite on the top floor. There aren’t many rooms on that floor, so don’t worry.” David Cooper answered proactively. “I don’t know what day you’ll be back, so I booked it for a week.”

Ethan Sullivan wasn’t sure either; the length of the job depended on how smoothly things went. He tossed his house key onto the center console and said, “Feed the cat and water the plants for me. The place might be a bit messy.”

Despite being his assistant for years, David Cooper had only been to Ethan Sullivan’s place a handful of times, unless Ethan Sullivan was away for a long trip. He picked up the key and said, “I’ll tidy up a bit for you then.”

“No need,” Ethan Sullivan said, not out of politeness. “I like it messy.”

David Cooper nodded awkwardly. His phone received an email containing care instructions for a dozen types of plants and notes on feeding the cat.

“Got it?” Ethan Sullivan put away his phone. “Same rules as always: email me if anything comes up, message me less, and only call if it’s urgent.”

David Cooper knew Ethan Sullivan’s habits inside out, but still couldn’t help complaining inwardly: If it’s urgent and I call you, by the time you pick up, I’ll probably be severely burned already.

Ethan Sullivan glanced at his watch. It was time to go. He gave one last instruction: “Pick out a gift for Team Leader Bolton who’s reviewing the footage. Budget under 100,000. He’ll know what it means.”

David Cooper promised, “Got it, boss. Don’t worry.”

Ethan Sullivan entered the airport right on time. His suitcase was checked in; he only carried a black Phantom bag from H brand, with scripts to read during the flight inside.

After security, there was no time to wait at the gate—he was almost the last passenger to board the plane.